Page 5 of Mace

Are the cats necessary?I’m more of a dog person.

“I’ll tell you when you’re eighteen.” I lean over to ruffle his hair, not wanting him to see my internal conflict. I never want him or Ivy to feel like I’ve regretted a single moment, because I haven’t.

It earns me a scowl as he pulls away, trying to flatten his hair back down.

Toby’s reaching that age where he’s starting to care about his appearance and how he looks to his friends. I have a feeling I’m no longer going to be his cool big sister, and I’m already prepared for him to enter his demonic teen phase.

“Is this honeymoon period why she’s being such a bitch lately?”

My mouth drops open. Maybe he’s already in it. “Don’t call herthat!” I snap, upset that he would use such a foulword to describe Ivy. He didn’t learn that from me. I’m careful about the language I use around him.

Heat spreads through Toby’s cheeks and a dawning realisation that he might have overstepped crosses his face. But he has the stubborn Fernsby personality, so naturally, he defends himself. “Like you don’t agree.”

His assessment isn’t wrong, but I don’t want to encourage that thinking either. It’s not nice.

“Even if I do agree, which I’m not saying I do,” I add quickly when he smirks, “we don’t call women ‘bitches’, Toby, especially not our sister. Do you understand?”

He suddenly becomes transfixed on the television screen and mashing the controller to avoid answering me. Because I know him so well, I can tell he’s feeling a little ashamed of himself, but I’m not ready to let him off the hook yet.

“Toby?” I press when he doesn’t respond.

I’m two seconds from tearing the controller out of his hand and turning the console off when he speaks. “I understand.” The contrition on his face is not feigned. “I’m sorry.”

My irritation seeps out of me. “I know you are,” I say softly, my gaze moving to the TV. “And I know things are weird right now, but?—”

I flinch as the screen flickers, showing one of the characters taking a bullet to the head. Blood sprays in an arc, covering the screen. Gross—and definitely not something I would have bought for him if I’d known how violent it is.

“What is this?” I demand, picking up the game case off the coffee table.

He tries to snatch it from me, but I hold it out of hisreach, reading the title and seeing the eighteen and over rating on the front.

“May-leeeeee!” He drags out my name, sounding like that little boy I miss so much. “Give it back.”

“This doesn’t seem suitable for little boys to play,” I say, skimming over the description on the box.

“It’s fine. I borrowed it from Damien. It only came out a month ago, but he’s already played it like three times, so he doesn’t mind me having it. He’s the goat,” he says, whatever that means.

I can’t keep up with all this lingo my brother spouts on the daily. It’s like a whole other language. I did at least get him to stop calling me ‘bruv’, though he slips it into conversation now and again.

“He’s the ‘goat’?” I raise my brow. “Why not the sheep or the cow? Are we building a farm? What do goats have to do with anything?” I ramble. It’s a habit I’ve never grown out of, and another thing that makes me a terrible choice of partner.

He pauses the game to stare at me as if I’m the lunatic, even though he’s the one talking about farmyard animals.

“It ain’t literal.” He shakes his head at me, and I feel his disappointment that I don’t speak preteen boy. “It means the greatest of all time. You need to keep up with current internet speak, May. Open social media once in a while. You sound like a grandma.”

Way to make me feel like the lamest person on the planet.I don’t point out to him that I’m only twenty-two and hardly ready to start drawing my pension yet. I also don’t mention that I don’t have any social media. I don’t have any friends who aren’t strippers or don’t work with strippers.

“I’ll add it to my to-do list. Right behind the gazillion other things I have to do daily, including giving you a hard time and going to work.”

Which I’m definitely going to be late for.

Come on, Ivy. Please don’t do this to me again.

I plaster a smile on my face so Toby doesn’t see my stress, but I’m pretty sure I’m failing.I am stressed.I need this job, and Friday nights are out of this world for tips. If Sam won’t let me work because I’m late, I won’t have the money for our rent, which I’m already behind on, and that opens a whole new shitstorm that I don’t want to be in. Getting evicted will definitely put us back on the radar of social services.

But Toby doesn’t need to hear my concerns about money. I never put my problems on either of them because I want them to stay innocent for as long as possible. When I first took guardianship of them, I promised myself I would never let anything bad touch them again. All I want is for them to feel safe and loved, something I hope I’ve achieved over the past four years, though I’m starting to question if somewhere along the way I’ve fucked that up.

Toby goes back to playing his game as my thoughts unravel.

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